


I'd Give Up Forever and a Day to Touch You

by ChocolateRulez



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: ?? I know lol an AU where Nagito is normal can't possibly be him??, AU, Asexuality Spectrum, Borderline Personality Disorder, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, I think that means the character is in the, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Non-con, Kidnapping, Late Night Conversations, MIKAN KILLS A BITCH, Mental Instability, Murder, Normal Nagito, Pet, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sickness, Suicide, Talentswap, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Uncomfortable Human Contact, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Yandere Mikan, as in an actual kitten not the kinky term lmao, like VV ANGSTY ITS NOT GONNA B GOOD AT ALL
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-12-07 20:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11631030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateRulez/pseuds/ChocolateRulez
Summary: (The beginning of her obsession with him roughly burrowed itself deep into her neglected heart. It would very soon blossom into something more unhealthy than anyone else she would ever love before.)





	1. Omnia Vincit Amor,

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Day 7 of Komamiki Week: AU. (But in reality, I've had this in my works for weeks already lol)  
> I'm posting day 7 early because I'm not gonna be able to the day of. ALSO IM SORRY I COULDNT DO THE OTHER DAYS MY WRITERS BLOCK IS VV SEVERE
> 
> For some reason, I've become enamored with talent-swaps?? I have this big chunk of Hinanami revolving around talentswap too. 
> 
> My writer's block just magically lifts when I'm writing it?? 
> 
> The title was kinda a Goo Goo Dolls lyric, lolol.

She examined with an unreadable countenance the numerous tiny cuts that dotted her pale and shapely figure. If she were to unbutton her collared blouse, she would locate several more, scattered along her sharp collarbone and the image immediately would remind her of an ivory canvas being unfortunately splattered with minuscule drops of blood.

Forever staining its once immaculate bare coarse cloth.

A rather gruesome image to compare her battered body to, she realized with an amused bubble of raw emotion arising within her same chest. If she peered closer, she could see the darkened tints of purple and blue mingling together and forming uneven spots. Would anyone believe her if she would confess that she had inflicted these grisly marks on herself? Each speckled bruise, each reddened slash affecting the pale pallor of her waist, every single one.

She cringed at the belittling expression that sparked in her head, and bit her bottom lip as she clasped the sewed buttons on her blouse back in, her cleavage now securely out of anyone's view. She hadn't meant to have sounded like that, but if she had, she'd be frighteningly talented at such self-depreciation. She was dubbed as Mikan Tsumiki, infamously known as the "Luckiest Girl in the World!" Luck, this dastardly _luck_  that clung to her skin, was ironically molded in her mind as the double-edged sword that will soon claim her life, the life that was replete with the resulting agony of her karma-infested talent.

An incoming headache bombarded her head, and she gingerly dug her thumb on the side of her head in an attempt to alleviate the pounding pain. Her pills- where had she last placed her pain medication? She couldn’t recall, and the pain wasn't subsiding anytime soon. In fact, she would say that the pain was slowly increasing until it was consuming the majority of her convoluted thoughts, and as if a hazy film was laid over her eyes, the atmosphere around her blurred significantly.

This headache must be the downside to another errant stroke of luck, she fearfully concluded as she dragged her body out of her dorm and into the inky blackness of the vacated hallway. Her body felt as if it were laden with heavy weights, and she envisioned herself as a renowned champion dragging the aforementioned weights to their end destination. The brief vision amused her for the moment and the pain was momentarily forgotten, before it struck her once again in full force.

 _Trash_ like her deserved this type of punishment, simply for her wretched existence in a world such as this. As she repeated these words to herself as a mantra, her legs continued to mindlessly wander throughout the hallway before they reached the hospital room. The pain was all her mind could focus on. All she could think of. It had slowly and deliberately spread throughout the rest of her body until she felt as if she were a walking corpse walking to her designated grave after their nightly haunting.

" _Tsumiki-san_!" She heard a deep baritone voice call out to her right before she-

 

* * *

  
She had fainted, Nagito graciously informed her. Into his arms, he didn’t dare to add, since he was already well-acquainted with her overly apologetic gestures.

Even with the information he had excluded, he still discovered that she was quick to stand up and begin to apologize for the inconvenience, much to his consternation. "I-If you'd like, I can undress myself here in the. . ." Her fingers brushed against her lacy bra instead of her buttoned shirt, and her eyes darted to her almost-bare chest. Silence inundated the nurse's office, no words being uttered as Mikan visibly struggled to apprehend what had transpired whilst she had been unconscious.

"Tsumiki-san, I unbuttoned your shirt to examine the injuries that had been previously obscured," Nagito finally interjected, piercing the eerie silence before she could reach her own despairing conclusions. A sensible response, she reasoned, but the intricacies of her mind were wired to reach a different answer. Had he been undressing her to take advantage of her? But then she ruined his fun, she thought bitterly as she mentally berated herself.

She couldn't even do something as simple as stay unconscious so her fellow classmate could play with her. "I-It's fine, Komaeda-san! You can please yourself with my body whichever way you'd like, if it-"

"-Have your bruises gotten worse since the last time I've seen you?"

This enforced her end of the silence once again, and his reply to her implications only confirmed what she had been suspecting all along. He had only taken off her shirt for medical purposes, no matter how much she wished there was anything sexual about his questionable actions.

She fiercely bit her bottom lip as he approached her stiff position on the medical table, his fingers ghosting over the large bruises in her waist. Placing his two forefingers on the largest area of discoloration, she winced as she felt the slight pressure on the lower left side of her waist. "These would have healed naturally if you hadn't been tripping most of the time," he muttered softly, and she could hear the apparent disappointment in his voice.

She just couldn't understand why he wasn't happy. She thought if she publicly humiliated herself, then everyone would like her more. Maybe she wouldn't have to be relying on her luck afterwards. So why wasn't he happy with her attempts?

This was a first in her odd luck-riddled life. Most people would, at first, be appalled and mildly repulsed by her attempts at catching their limited attention, but soon enough they would give in to her berating suggestions. . . soon they'd be roughly slamming her on the rigid brick walls of decrepit back alleys, soon they'd be slapping her to the asphalt pavement and kicking her until she was beaten senselessly.

And she wouldn’t judge them for it. She knew perfectly well that she was akin to some hobo's trash, that this was the only type of attention she was susceptible to receive.

But after months of pleading with her other classmates at Hope's Peak to slap her around, anything to keep their eyes on her, they'd always decline. Only Saionji would be more than happy to accept her requests, but all she did was verbally abuse her.

It just. . . wasn’t _enough_.

What did she have to do to not feel like a tumbling piece of scrap paper drifting towards the bottom of the decayed trash can? Why did she feel as if she was being disregarded for all her efforts?

She winced, the sharp pain snapping her out of her reverie as Nagito's index finger jabbed the side of her waist, at the center of her large bruise. "My apologies, I hadn't expected this particular injury to accumulate enough stimulation," he excused, lifting his index finger away.

Oh, how she desperately wished she could tell him otherwise! He could stab her right in the center of her bruise and she wouldn’t even call him out for it!

But she clamped her mouth shut, since several months had elapsed since she first disgraced the Ultimate Nurse with her revolting presence. And yet, throughout all those months, not once had he touched her in a wrong way, not once had he abused through verbal lashings. He had been so polite, so _kind,_ that she found herself desperately wishing that he would push her away at least once.

"Would you like me to apply some ice to the bruise, Tsumiki-san?" He pierced through the silence once again, and she cursed herself for her lack of response this entire time.

"T-That would b-be nice, yes. I-If y-you'd like," she added as an afterthought, finally deciding that he was impossible to convince when it came to slamming her on some brick wall in some decrepit back alley. Perhaps she was just mentally tiring them both out with her suggestions.

She'll bring it up when he's more annoyed with her, and therefore, more open to the idea.

He wordlessly gathered ice from the fridge at the corner of the room, and she peeked through her position on the medical table and glimpsed at edges of numerous blood bags. She appended _offer a pint of blood as a blood sample_ into her list of self-depreciating suggestions.

"T-Thank you," she mumbled as Nagito gently pressed the sack of ice on her injuries. There was a cold sting that emanated from the ice, but other than that, there was nothing else to have her feeling mildly uncomfortable in his presence.

This worried her tremendously.

If she wasn’t fulfilling his dark desires, he would grow bored with her and discard her. Then, he'd ignore her, and she wouldn't even be a fleeting thought in his mind anymore.

"You don’t have to throw that ice away now!" She hollered once he had lifted it away from her wounds and was poised to toss it down the pristine sink. "You can shove these ice cubes up my mouth until I-"

"Please, Tsumiki-san," he interrupted smoothly, smiling in that eerily blank way that only she seemed to perceptively pick up on, "It is entirely fine."  
Desperation clawed its way up her throat and she choked out her pleas through the midst of sheer panic. She can't have someone bore of her. She didn’t want to be ignored just as her father had once she told him that he couldn’t touch her so inappropriately anymore. Because then he'd leave, he'd leave just like her damn father had, and then others would leave too (just like her damned _mother_ had) because they would see no point with her anymore.

"Are you okay?" She overheard, and she flinched as she felt Nagito's soft and narrow fingers slowly dry the dampness in her cheeks through deliberate caresses. She hadn't even known she had begun tearing up until he was comforting her. She discovered that she couldn’t recall the last time she had been asked such a simple inquiry.

"I-I just. . ." she hiccuped out her next sob and wondered why she was acting so childish in front of the charming nurse who only denied her offers with his empty simpers. "I feel so useless whenever you're s-so nice to me, Komaeda-kun!"

His eyes widened imperceptibly that if she hadn't been peering into his green-flecked eyes, she wouldn't have caught such a brief appearance of emotion. His thin smile gradually faded, the insincerity of his expression disappearing into that emptiness she had greatly feared since the moment she met him. He was bored of her, of her petty little cries, soon he wouldn’t acknowledge her even if she's crying his name because he was the only one who seemed to truly look through her, soon. . .

"Why?"

She stiffened, not expecting for him to question. She thought it was obvious, apparent that his expectations for her would never be met. She struggled to respond, no words bubbling up within her fear-infested mind. It was too late now. . .!

"Why, Tsumiki-san?" He repeated in the midst of the harrowing silence, and she strained to hear the impatience lurking in the edges of his voice. All she could detect was mere curiosity, and this frightened her more than anything else.

She didn't know how to handle this situation. She'd never encountered someone like him before. If she bared her honest self, what would happen? She figured she'd give it a shot, anything to keep him from intently staring at her as he was now.

"W-Well. . . because the only reason anyone would want to spend time with me is by taking advantage of me for their own uses," she slowly elaborated, avoiding his rapt gaze by averting her own eyes away from his. She quickly realized that when she wasn't feeling as if she were being dissected just from gazing into his eyes, it was considerably easier to pour her bumbling thoughts out. "O-Once someone finds no more use for me anymore, I-I'm thrown away," she confessed, words blubbering and mingling together as she hastily wiped the tears that were streaming down her face.

His voice was impassive enough that she would've mistaken him for an automated tone if she hadn't been facing him. She was already _losing_ him; already he was slipping in between her fingers. "And what made you think I'd be worthy?"

Utter confusion blurred her very thought process, and her own mind cleared away into nothingness as she endeavored to comprehend what he was trying to convey to her. Worthy?

Did he not think he was worthy to use her as he pleased? Her headache returned in its full glory as she visibly struggled to understand.

"I-I d-don’t understand?"

  
His impatience finally begun to sift through the cracks of his inscrutable countenance, and she briefly reveled in it before he opened his mouth and further bewildered her. "I'm not worthy enough to take advantage of an Ultimate such as yourself, Tsumiki-san!" His voice rose as his excitement broke apart his deadpan expression.

The amount of octaves his voice had considerably risen caused her to unwillingly flinch, and she saw the zealous glint in his eye shift into one of worry for her for the briefest of seconds, before he reverted back to his crazed expression. He quickly took advantage of her reluctant silence to get a few more words in edgewise, "I can't be twisting such bright hope as yours. I must let it fester into an unglorified but wholly pure hope, which I'm sure you will receive without a bothersome intervention such as myself!"

She barely was able to apprehend what he was attempting to convey with his garbled meanings being stretched as they were now. Perhaps the hope he was saying she possessed was something akin to self-fulfillment? She felt the familiar tongues of anxiety wrap around her slim ribcage and squeeze tightly enough to constrict her air passageways. Questioning him about the meaning would only make him more impatient, and although she had initially desired to have him feel annoyed by her, the very thought that he would be unhappy by her suddenly frightened her.

"I-I don't think you're much a bothersome intervention with my h-hope," she slowly replied, as if she were formulating the very words whilst speaking. The reality was that she had been mulling over her response for a few minutes now, and it still sounded as if she had misunderstood the entire concept of what he was trying to impart.

The same confusion she had been sporting now settled into his striking features, his grey-green eyes now clouded with something akin to eagerness. She didn’t know whether or not she said the right thing, at least not now that he was looking as if she was attempting to explain the world was flat.

"To use someone, you'd have to be. . . someone better, right?"

She nodded, pursing her lips.

"And you're saying I don’t interfere with your hope?"

"I-I mean, I think you do?"

Nagito's bewildered expression converted into a contemplative one as his brows furrowed in cogitation. She realized that their rocky communication was bettering due to his inquiries on what she was trying to elaborate. Maybe she should've asked him what he had been trying to tell her as well, she chastised herself. "So if I'm not bothersome to it. . .?"

Mikan dug her fingernails on the inside of her palms, leaving crescent-shaped imprints on their centers as she explained, "I think you a-advance it? Give me more hope?"

She felt as if she were speaking in some type of intricately coded language only the two of them knew. She had to keep mentally reminding herself that hope must mean a type of self-fulfillment, or something along those lines.

With this hazy film of mutual bewilderment laid over their eyes, reminiscent to a cloaked veil, they were slowly moving from their own self-depreciating comments in an effort to understand each other more efficiently. Something that wouldn’t have occurred in the first place if they both hadn't even tried.

This was a first for the two of them; someone who was attempting to understand them and actually succeeding, instead of brushing off their badly-placed comments and settling for naïve ignorance.

"Impossible," he muttered under his breath, inaudible it hadn't been for the close proximity they had been sharing. Without even realizing it, Mikan had been edging closer towards the nurse to espy his expressions better and hear his responses.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm incapable of advancing someone's hope. I can't feel hope?" He was sounding unsure of his own proclamation, and even to his own ears he could hear the confused tone laced underneath.

She opened her mouth to debate otherwise, thousands of counterarguments racing through her mind, as rapidly as the speed of light, before he shook his head and dismissed any other words. "Never mind, Tsumiki-san."

Never. . . _mind_? Her initial thought was that he surely must be teasing her, to halt their conversation just when she was beginning to feel as if she had been peering into what was once the mysterious crevices of his mind.

And now that she was feeling as if she was finally communicating with another human being properly, he cut it off.

Mikan felt the slimy fingers of greed crawl down from her chest and spread throughout the rest of her body. It tangled any other well-meaning thought.

She desired to understand more of him.

She _wanted_. . .

She wanted to know everything that was of relation to him.

She wanted to know why he was deftly skilled when it came to dressing her wounds, where he had picked up his Ultimate Talent.

Wanted to know why he seemed unhealthily enraptured by the nonsensical "hope" matters he had been spouting at her just before.

Wanted to know why he would smile at such a detestable individual such as herself whenever they passed by each other in the hallways.

Wanted to know why he was always highly concerned for her general well-being whenever she clumsily stumbled one way or another in class.

Wanted to know why he seemed so charismatic at this very moment, when his brow was furrowed into his pensive expression and was withholding himself from her.

(The beginning of her obsession with him roughly burrowed itself deep into her neglected heart. It would very soon blossom into something more unhealthy than anyone else she would ever love before.)

"I'll wrap some of your fleshier wounds and more. . . gruesome bruises with an elastic bandage," Nagito informed her as he completed the aforementioned action. "And I'd like to apologize for my outburst. I feel that all Ultimate Talented can make the world a more hopeful place. It's just a belief of mine, and I like telling people of it whenever I have the chance."

His vague explanation didn’t clear any of her questions away, but she nonetheless excused him. For what, she wouldn’t know. He hadn't crossed her wrongly in any way. People had done much worse to her, then handed her hasty apologies in return.

"It's o-okay. And t-thank you for being so nice to me these past few months," she quietly stuttered out.

He continued to wrap the bandage around her waist in an effective manner, neither of them exchanging words. Once, twice, his fingers would accidentally brush against her skin, the feeling of it starkly contrasting the rough bandages. His touch was always reminiscent to a feather kissing the tip of her index finger prior to moseying away with the wind's breeze.

Then her mind moved to a much more intimate image.

She cursed herself, feeling her cheeks flame from the impending thoughts that randomly invaded her senses. As if her mind was operating independently, she began to envision how gentle he would be if his fingers were brushing throughout her entire body.

How _soft_ his kisses would be, peppering along her waist, then _slowly,_ almost _painstakingly_ , moving down. . .

"Is everything okay, Tsumiki-san?" He questioned, frowning as she snapped out of her wistful reverie in a millisecond. "For a moment, I thought your body was heating up."

For a moment, she thinks she's falling in love with him.

 

 

 

 


	2. Et Nos Cedamus Amori.

Her bony index finger hovered shakily over her cell phone, poised over the last number that was to complete the hasty call, but unable to gather enough moxie to do so. She continued to repeat to herself that he had specifically requested she should inform him if her wounds reopened, in order for him to treat them efficiently and they wouldn’t worsen over time.

At the fleeting reminder of the aforementioned wound, Mikan lifted her left arm, visibly wincing at the blood seeping down her arm in gushing trickles. The fact that her skin was liable enough to be ruptured easily must contribute to the fact that the kitten she had miraculously saved from the ominous alley accidentally injured her during his daily feeding.

It was a shame, to have such a blameless animal casually stuffed in the cardboard box as if he were some play-toy that can be discarded whenever they weren't deemed useful or entertaining anymore. She recalled that frightening commercial that aired previously on television a few years prior, about a family becoming increasingly irritated at their puppy's inability to keep his bladder from wasting the house, and the father wrapped him up in a disposable plastic bag before heaving him down the river.

She teared up when she first encountered such an eye-opening infomercial, and religiously avoided it whenever she saw the beginnings of it in any television screen. She was tearing up at just the mere remembrance of it, and that compassion for animals was what led her to escort the abandoned kitten to her dorm, despite the fact that animals currently weren't allowed in the premises and she had close to no idea on how to properly care for a kitten.

Mikan found herself desperately hoping that the kitten wouldn't grow to despise her as most of her humanistic peers did, and bent down to stroke the tabby's brightly-tinted fur before scooping him up in her shaking arms.

The kitten mewled loudly, enough to spark some fear in Mikan that he may be heard and would be disposed of by tomorrow morning. Her panic led her to tearfully sob at the kitten to halt its mewling, and as if he comprehended her muffled language, he decided to quieten himself by burrowing under her shirt and peeking his tiny head above her sheer neckline.

She shivered, instinctively, at the sudden increase in warmth, then felt her cheeks flush with adoration as the kitten snuggled itself into her bony collarbone and purred contentedly. Resisting the urge to cuddle him now that her arm was pounding in noticeable pain, she wrapped her worn verdant trench coat around her petite body and headed for the hallway.

She didn’t bother to glance at the cuts, knowing that the sticky liquid trickling down her arm was blood that would begin to coagulate on her skin soon. She felt as if someone plunged a knife into her arms and dreadfully slashed it down to her veiny elbow. A gruesome comparison, and she snide-fully blamed it on her luck that the kitten had given her such a horrid wound through a mere accident.

"Mi-Tsumiki?" She overheard a familiar baritone voice stutter out her name before resorting to her surname, and she spun around to discover that the enchanting, lilting voice belonged to the Ultimate Nurse she had already been planning to visit. Mikan briefly recalled how he had been the one to suggest that since they were such long-lasting acquaintances ,(she would've even preferred the word friend, but she knew how vile and disgusting that would be to him) that perhaps they should take note of the fact and call each other by their first names.

She hadn't obeyed to his frivolous suggestion yet, perfectly knowing that if she were to call him by her first name she'd become some stammering mess in front of him, as he was now in front of her.

He was most likely stuttering because the beginning of her name sounded so revolting when it rolled off her tongue. She was just about to voice her self-depreciating opinion when a soft mew echoed from her coat and resonated throughout the hallways.

Nagito stepped forward, curiously craning his neck forward in order to catch a glimpse of the kitten currently balling her shirt up as a formidable blanket, but she stopped him from doing so as she wrapped her old and trusty trench coat tighter around her body, shielding the kitten from his view. "S-Sorry I was coming to see you so late," she introduced, averting her eyes from his questioning gaze.

Nagito opened his mouth as if he were going to rail her with questions, but decided against it spontaneously and instead handed her one of his empty close-lipped smiles. "It's fine. Is it one of your old wounds or have you opened," he grimaced at his next words, "a new one?"

She apologetically gazed back at his disconcerted gaze, which was enough palpable evidence to have him sighing exasperatedly before reaching out and gently grasping his hand around hers to lead her to the hospital room. Him holding her small hand had been happening more frequently these days, despite each other's offhand comments that they know it may be uncomfortable for the other. His reasoning being that whenever he led her to the hospital room she somehow found herself stumbling over some misplaced object in the hallway, due to the overwhelming blackness mixed with her dastardly luck.

Although, no matter how often he tangled his fingers around hers, she still ended up feeling bothersome butterflies whirling around in her stomach and fluttering an unneeded storm. It was happening at that very moment, and she kept herself from leaning closer to his side by loosening her grip.

He frowned, but in the darkness she only caught a slight shift in his otherwise blank expression. Relief, most likely, she concluded bitterly. At last, noticing her apparent discomfort over his touch, he reluctantly untangled his fingers from hers and instead led her to the hospital door currently depicting a "CLOSED" sign.

Nagito didn't bother flipping it over and instead stuffed his hand into his forefront coat pocket, retrieving the silver key that glinted in the absolute darkness, almost as if it were emanating its own light. Mikan thanked him as he unlocked the door and gestured for her to follow him inside.

She automatically crawled up the hospital bed, despite the darkness wrapping around their forms and not allowing them to see anything except vague outlines of the hospital objects. By now, she knew the meticulous placement of every object in that hospital room, from the thousands of times she would visit Nagito during his talent practice. Sometimes she'd encounter other people conversing with Nagito concerning his talent, such as the Ultimate Neurologist whose name she had never bothered to discover, but other than that he was usually brooding in his desk and actively searching for more ways to treat (her) wounds more effectively.

Nagito cursed as he himself tripped over the chair that was left askew from the center of the room, most likely from his own doing. Then he grazed his hand against the wall and located the light switch.

Mikan bit her lip, being careful not to draw blood as she watched him roll up the frayed cuffs of his coat sleeves before heading towards her. "May I examine the wound?" He questioned, out of polite manners and barely sounding like a nurse's demand but a shy request.

Mikan nodded as she wrapped her trenchcoat tighter around her form, almost smothering the napping kitten on her chest. He frowned as he watched her roll up the sleeve of her trenchcoat, the reddened slash staining her sleeve as it dragged along her left arm.

"Wouldn't you like to remove your coat?"

"N-No, please," she pleaded, which led him to opening his mouth before clamping it back shut tightly.

"I'd be able to treat it better. And the blood's staining-"

"I-I'm sorry, but I'd rather keep it on." His eyes flashed apologetically, and as if he had sent her a telepathic message through just his intent gaze, and she recalled how last week she had awoken in her undergarments in front of him.

Mikan had been perfectly fine with how the events turned out that day, considering how the worst of her wounds were located in her upper abdomen. He, on the other hand, seemed to have been mulling over that day just as often as her, but for starkly different reasons.

He must've thought that she was being reluctant to undress herself in front of him, considering the amount of time that had passed whilst she was unconscious, which constituted enough time for it to seem like he had taken advantage enough of her. She knew this wasn't true, considering the fact that she hadn't felt any different when she had awoken, and she was familiar with the irritating pain that followed once someone had taken advantage of her.

She decided to try to keep him from blaming himself before he began analyzing his lack of mistake and deeming himself unworthy to treat her anymore. "It's not that I don’t trust you. . .!" He sharply retracted his hand from her wrist, countenance shifting into audible worry and hurt over her words. She tossed profanities at herself, repeating that sentence over and over in her convoluted thought-ridden head, discovering that it sounded almost accusatory in affirming his fear.

Mikan pursed her lip, deciding that no matter how she would approach he'd end up thinking she was attempting to be kind, and opted instead to say, "I just feel a little chilly today. . . that's why I'd like to keep it on."

Nagito was able to conceal his despondent expression with his signature blankness, nodding as he wiped the wound in antiseptic wordlessly.

Why was he so badly affected over whether or not she didn't trust him anymore? She wracked her head, unable to find any answers that connected with what she presumed was his disgusted perception of her. Otherwise, he'd be relieved that he wouldn’t have to glimpse at more of her body other than her ugly face. Perhaps he was fearful that he would be kicked out of the Academy if she ended up revealing what he had done to her last week and painted it as a horrible situation?

She willed herself not to remember the downturning of his lips, the way his eyes seemed to cloud over with a dejected expression she had thought she would never see in regards to her wellbeing. Her mind raced with thousands of thoughts, of her obsession, of how far her mind could imagine things to actually paste on an expression on the boy in question, to give her such false thoughts and make her think that he actually cared for her!

She gritted her teeth and leaned forward, tugging her uneven strands of her hair as she urged her thoughts to subside and keep her from edging towards the brink of insanity. The kitten squeaked shrilly, but her mind was too occupied whether or not to discern if it was out of surprise or pain. She slapped the side of her head repeatedly, eyes blazed at the thought of what she'd do if he actually held some semblance of feeling for him.

(She didn't know.)

"Mikan, are you okay?" Nagito rushed forward and straightened her from her cowered position, just now taking notice of the kitten peeking out from the top of her coat before returning his attention on her. I'm not, she wanted to say. But she only nodded meekly before gripping both of his shoulders tightly, cheeks flaming in embarrassment.

(How many times has she mentally broken down in his vicinity? She wonders if perhaps she's the only one baring her wholly flawed self whilst he fabricates what he shows.)

The worry that livened up his previously blank expression softened as he placed his hands around her waist and lifted her back on the hospital bed, before averting his eyes to where the kitten was peeking out. "Who's this little guy?" He knelt down and rubbed the top of the kitten's head with his index finger, simpering as it mewed indignantly.

She stammered for a lie that would keep him from discovering anything else about the kitten, but ultimately decided that it was too late to keep him unsuspecting. "P-Please don’t tell Miss Yukizome or Hinata-kun! They might take him away!"

His brow furrowed, before promising that he wouldn’t dare to give away the kitten's cover. "Where'd you find him?"

"I-In the back of an alley. He looked like he'd been abandoned, so. . . I took him in." She shut her eyes, awaiting the rude laugh that would slice through the air, the disappointed response that would follow, or the nasty insults. Neither of the three occurred.

Instead Nagito replied, "How very kind of you, Mikan. I bet you’ve made this kitten's bleak future much more hopeful." At the well-meaning compliment, coupled with the smooth enunciation of her name and no hint of an ashamed stutter, her cheeks reddened as she thanked him quietly.

She felt the storm brewing violently within her heart tamp down and slowly fade away, as if the sun finally began to drive its way through the cloudy uncertainty in her heart and shone through.

She carefully extracted the kitten from where he was sharply clutching her shirt with his curled claws. It mewed fearfully once Mikan slowly handed him to Nagito's open palms, whimpering as they both giggled at his shy demeanor. "He's already taken such a liking to you," Nagito notes cheerfully, stroking the tabby's fur for only a few more seconds before complying to the creature's wishes and relinquished his hold on him.

She frowned as the kitten stubbornly placed himself on her lap and snuggled in between her thighs. "I-I've never had a pet before, so I'm kinda afraid. . ." she confessed meekly as she watched the kitten attain his cozy spot rather easily.

"Why? If you're afraid the kitten won't love you. . ."

"N-No! Well, maybe that t-too, but what if he dies because of my luck cycle?" Her timid voice arises once she voices her inquiry, as panic begins to set in her expression and she tugs at her bottom lip with her teeth nervously. She doesn't think she contains the mental capacity to handle an innocent animal's passing due to her damned luck cycle, or any other deaths for that matter.

Not like it hadn't occurred before, now that she thought about delving into the complicated matter more. She recalled how the very same day she was recruited into the prestigious Hope's Peak Academy, her best friend's lowly thoughts consumed them and they carried out the final act of their fantastic performance.

They committed suicide by drowning themselves in their sleepy town's sole lake. It subsequently devastated Mikan for weeks, up until she attended her first day at Hope's Peak and silently promised herself she couldn’t allow another person to suffer her lucky consequences.

(Why she was sitting at the nurse's office at approximately two in the morning and sharing shy laughs over an animal's antics was beyond her. What would she do if she hurts him?)

They remained in their relaxed positions for a few more minutes, soaking in the silence with a pleasantness that only they could retain together without it feeling awkward or horridly forced. That was, until Nagito opened his mouth and opened the rusting doorway towards the darkness Mikan hadn't even known she kept secretly caged. "I should finish treating your wounds before another girl comes in with a bruise as well."

She tensed up on the hospital bed, clutching the patterned hospital sheets tightly as she struggled not to reach towards any conclusions that could unsettle her further. Her tongue twisted as she struggled to word her next inquiry politely enough to not voice the confusion laced underneath her tone. "W-What do you mean?" She weakly mustered.

Nagito didn’t seem too worried as he motioned for her to lift her arms as he rewrapped her bandages for what seemed like the umpteenth time that same week. He shrugged nonchalantly as he then proceeded to wrap the fresh wound on her arm with his trusty gauze. "There are some students who visit me late at night like you do to treat their wounds," he responds matter-of-factly, which somehow angers her for an unknown reason that is beyond her cognitive abilities.

Was he avoiding her question? He obviously knew she was questioning why there were girls visiting his room at a late night hour, not just students. Or was he that oblivious? The undescriptive adjective stung even in her thoughts, to brand such an individual as Nagito as oblivious. He was too perceptive to not catch what was the selfish reason that led her to ask him.

"N-No," she replies softly, lowering her head in order to not catch another glimpse of his innocent and inquisitive gaze. "I-I meant. . ." her hands have automatically returned to clutching the ends of her shirt as the words become lodged in her throat.

She doesn’t want to inconvenience him with her annoying questions, but there's this sudden urge that’s causing earthquakes in the pit of her stomach, and she wonders if this is jealousy or the beginnings of a much darker emotion. "Why are. . . girls visiting?"

Nagito attempts to catch the conflicted expression she was currently hiding from him as he replies, "In order for me to treat their bruises."

His blunt yet uninformative responses are definitely irritating her now, as she grits her teeth and feels the unmitigated anger simmering in his chest. "No!" She finally hollers, not noticing his cautious step back. She was too occupied with struggling to keep her rapidly-arising emotions in check. "Why-Why would these girls be getting so many bruises and why would they have to visit you so late at night?"

She doesn't lift her head from the lowered position on the table, glaring at the kitten that was now stirring uncomfortably in his deep slumber. She maintains her gaze on the kitten, in order to keep herself from locking onto Nagito's gaze and yelling it all in his clueless face.

"I'm the one with the bad luck! I'm the one who was always having some kind of nasty bruise on my face, not the girls in the school! They look like they’ve never been through. . . been through real pain! I doubt they've gotten them by accident!"

It was only then that Nagito decided to intervene before her protests were spiraling into full-fledged screams and her mental instability would crack through. He wasn’t the Ultimate Neurologist as his fellow roommate was, but he had been through many breakdowns to recognize the very beginnings of one. He wouldn't ever openly admit that he was gradually becoming fearful of the unreadable emotion crossing her face, how her usual melancholic expression shifted into one of simmering anger. "If you're worried that I may be in any danger, you do not have to be," he attempts to reassure, and she only buries her face in her hands in the same exasperated manner he would show her when he treated a new wound of hers.

"That's not what I'm worried-!"

"All they’ve done is kiss me after I treat their wounds."

Having only caught the lax tone he was sporting, she eased herself back onto the hospital bed. "Oh, o-okay. S-Sorry I. . ." Then the actual substantial weight of the words bombarded her, and her primal instinct was to grab the heaviest thing closest to her and heave it towards Nagito.

That object, being, the frightened kitten that was jolted awake from his slumber and was now cowering in the corner. She contemplated lifting the kitten roughly from his coarse fur and compensating the anger in her chest with the satisfaction of seeing the kitten pummel Nagito in the chest, but at the last second she retracted her hand as if she was physically stung.

(She wasn't her parents, she has to frequently remind herself each morning as she gazes at the cannily similar features she wore that she had inherited from the aforementioned adults. They were bastards, they received elation from hurting other human beings, and only looked out for their own mental health. She would never hurt a living being as they had, the notorious criminals they were known as.)

Instead, she hurled the embroidered pillow that Nagito once told her had been personally hand-knitted and dedicated to his unworthy self by his grandmother. She watches as the pillow smacks against his puzzled face, and is disappointed when she feels no satisfaction as a result.

She wants to scream, she wants to bawl openly, but most of all, she almost wants to kill him. Metaphorically, of course (she can't convince herself that she doesn’t mean it, of course).

"I don’t understand why I've angered you, but I apologize," he begins, and the feeling in her chest twists painfully as if it were a dagger being twisted and slashing her innards. They didn’t feel like the right words, what were the words she actually wanted to hear?

She doesn’t even feel as bemused anymore that her suspicions and addled insecurities were proven incorrect. Nagito wasn’t at all charmed by her numerous crying sessions and apologies, he was absolutely disgusted.

Why did she foolishly think, for even the briefest of milliseconds, even hope that he actually reciprocated her selfish feelings? He was just courteous towards all his other female patients.

It was just. . . there was still this nagging feeling digging into her wounded mind as if she had been missing an important shard of conclusive evidence. He was always extremely withdrawn and seemed almost uncomfortable with human contact if it weren't for the times he was treating a patient's wounds. In class, he'd rarely respond to classmates' venturing comments towards his past and instead give them his scathing smile that only seemed to frighten Mikan.

The fact that he'd actually lock lips with another girl sounded incomprehensible to her own ears; it had taken them both months to even achieve a state of comfort to even embrace each other. Nagito, making out with several girls, perhaps even shoving them down on the same hospital bed she was currently glued to as if it were her sole lifeline?

Jealousy coursed through her veins as she wondered just why she was gullible enough to have thought that Nagito was just beginning to bare his true self to her. He expertly crafted some awkward and kind personality that almost seemed to mirror hers, tossing in some self-depreciating comments to actually have her feel pity for him.

  
She hadn't noticed she had covered her mouth with her open palm, pressing her hand against her lips as if she were attempting to muffle an earnest scream. It was a habit she had picked up during her hazy childhood days, when her parents would storm through the doorway and she'd childishly hide in her bedroom closet, petite hand tightly clamped over her mouth so as to not reveal her location.

(They always found her in the end anyways. Just like they found the dead body hastily misplaced underneath her bed and lauded her lavishly in an invigorating manner that caused her to feel even more nauseous for her little mistake.)

She only discovered she was repeating her ancient habit once Nagito gently pried her hand away from her mouth, with a soft voice of "Are you okay? Breathe deeply." She automatically complied, and she stubbornly blamed it on the soothing voice he had taken on and the calming effect he immediately placed on her anger-driven soul. The small circles he was rubbing on the bundle of nerves in her back wasn't helping her maintain her livid stance, either.

He opened his mouth, as if he were to profusely apologize with words devised of empty meaning, since she knew he was still utterly clueless on why she was livid at him. She jerked away from his gentle hold on her wrists, trying not to scan the crumpled expression on his countenance. It was an automatic reaction to his softened touch, a reaction that hadn't developed before.

She was instinctively fearful of the possibility that she may just injure him. She was frightened: she was afraid. But the actual, thought-invoking question wasn't why her heart was palpitating rapidly in her chest, it was who she was afraid of.

Mikan knew perfectly when she felt she was going insane, and she had just been calming down when she ripped her hands away from him. So who was she actually afraid of?

It was Nagito.

Kind, gentle Nagito, who once told her that he only felt useful when someone was depending on him in the hospital bed.

Kind, gentle Nagito, who once admitted to her that he would never deny a patient's requests because their well-being was first and foremost, and he didn’t retain enough self-worth anyways to actually deny anything that would potentially scar him.

Kind, gentle Nagito, who was more similar to her in more ways than one when it came to undervaluing himself. Girls could’ve requested anything from him and he would've obeyed no matter what the cost.

A fleeting thought flashes across her head, and although she initially dismisses it, the more she mulls over the thought, the more freshly appealing it sounds in her head.

What if Nagito was under her control?

Why should all these girls have their delectable share with him, as if he were some toy, something they could wrap up in a voluminous perky bow and toss into the river of broken-hearted beings once they're finished mindlessly playing with him? She's reminded of the brutal puppy commercial that had devastated her and stayed with her years ago.

She can fix this, she realizes gleefully. It was painfully apparent that any other girl would be using his kindness, wouldn't love him as wholeheartedly and as loyally as she would.

Besides, she thinks nonchalantly, he was hers now. An excited rush courses through her body, almost as it were the familiar surge that she would familiarize as the loss of sanity, as parts of her brain ceaselessly continues to chip away from the dementia only an unlucky person such as herself would acquire.

But of course, she wasn't derailing into insanity! She feels perfectly sane, sane enough to even being imagining the numerous fantasies she could enact with Nagito once he's gratefully under her control and willing to appease her every loving need.

Her cheeks heat up shamelessly as she clutches her ragged verdant coat around her body and scoops the kitten up in her arms. "I haven't finished wrapping. . ."

"It's okay! I feel much better now anyways, thank you!" She replies politely, not noticing the slight widening in his eyes from her lack of conversational stutter.

"Are you angry?" He then questions, a knowing smile creeping along his face that sends a shiver down her spine. His expression almost seemed like he knew exactly what she was beginning to plan, and she curses herself for thinking that someone such as Nagito wouldn't notice the inner workings of her mind.

She gulps, not spinning around to confront him, as she responds, "W-What do you mean?" Her stutter had returned along with the meekness, she realizes grimly.

"That I've kissed other girls. I wouldn't know why, since I'm the trashiest candidate to be in love with. Do you love a disgusting being such as myself too, Mikan?"

She leaves, for once not retorting that he was worth much more than he thinks, for once not attempting to delve into his mystery-filled mind, for once doing what everyone else does to him and ignores him.

Of course, Mikan almost tells him, but she will show him soon enough.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to remind everyone that it's canon how Mikan and Nagito both just wanted someone to love them. :) 
> 
> Also can u imagine a girl asking if they can kiss Nagito and he says ok but he just stands there stiffly bc he just wants to fulfill any Ultimate's desire even if he's hurt, but he's not really ok?? 
> 
> IDK WHAT HAVE I DONE??? AAAAAA


	3. Etiam in Morte

Mikan had awoken in a cold sweat, her heart erratically hammering against her chest as she unwillingly clutched onto the remaining remnants of her nightmare. She gingerly placed a hand on her chest as she recalled how Nagito’s grey-green eyes bore into her very soul as he watched her grovel at his very feet. _I love you_ , she was sobbing tearfully, voice cracking in such heavily-laced emotion as his chuckle resonated throughout the room. He replies, his iridescent eyes glinting with malice, with how trash doesn’t mix well with diamonds glittering in the rough.

She’s left wondering who was the revolting trash in that dream, the boy manically laughing as he tugged his colorless locks, or the girl who was bowing down at his feet as if he were some religious pariah.

She can’t even fathom the extent of her emotions if he were to deny an actual love confession of hers. She would _kill_ anyone or anything if it meant he would reciprocate her love. She’d sacrifice herself for him, even. Although the nightmare fueled her deepest and darkest fears, which she had presumed was expertly buried in the subconscious crevices of her mind, Mikan reminded herself that once she enacted her plan, none of that would occur. There wouldn’t be any room for error, anyways.

A contented purr snapped her out of her indulgent reverie, and Mikan immediately whipped the duvet off as she frantically searched for the kitten. He was on the other side of the bed, now startled awake from her sudden movements and staring at her bemusedly. She exhaled a sigh she hadn’t even known she had been retaining until it was released out of her system. It was an instinctual reaction to assume the worst in regards to other organisms, and she was extremely relieved to have discovered that the kitten was still in one piece.

Whether or not he was actually comfortable in her stuffy dorm was another matter in itself. Mikan profusely apologizes to the kitten as she prepared to leave him for half of the day once again. She would leave her window open, but she was unsure whether or not he actually took advantage of the escape route she gave him every day and decides upon himself to return. The only creature that willingly stays with her is also the one to have ripped her pillows apart, but she supposes it’s fine considering most kittens have attempted destroying their owners’ belongings at one point during their lifetime for the mere satisfaction of sharpening their claws.

Her classmates would claim that she was helping them because they were sharpening their knives by using it in her body. She was young and naïve and susceptible to all types of lies that began with “You’re a good…!” So long as she was good, so long as she was helpful, so long as her classmates noticed her and their eyes only lingered on her cuts before they returned to her face. Now she was older and all she had learned from those times was that it was basically impossible they could have sharpened their knives well using a soft, mushy body such as hers. She desperately wishes she could’ve been even more useful to them now with this acquired knowledge.

“Good morning, Hope’s Peak Academy!” A masculine voice spills over the speakers stationed in the corners of her dorm, and she spins around frantically before recalling that the morning announcements rung in during this time (that is, usually shortly after a nightmare jolts her awake). The headmaster’s voice drones on with the stellar achievements another fellow Alumni of Hope’s Peak had just accomplished, one that was most likely taking the world by storm but sounded mild compared to what other accomplishments Mikan had heard beforehand. Something about the next President?

There were a few other announcements concerning extracurricular activities and then a curt goodbye. That was Mikan’s cue to begin preparing for her morning before the first bell rung. It took her approximately an hour to prepare herself (in order to look as approachable as possible so someone could botch up all of her hard work and shove her down some trash can). She’d brush her teeth, step into the shower and quickly wash her body and hair, then dress herself with Academy’s beige school uniform before quickly rushing to her homeroom and greeting everyone with a complementary view of her pink-lace panties, which she specifically chose on Mondays because it matched the color of everyone’s faces once they inadvertently took a peek at it. Mondays were the worst anyways, since she had almost all of her classes with Nagito, and she liked the small satisfaction of seeing everyone highly flustered because of her in particular.

She’s rambling to herself as she completes all those tasks, quickly recalling to leave a full bowl of kitten food and water for her kitten (milk was unhealthy, contrary to popular belief) and then rushed out from her dorm just as the first bell resonates throughout the hallways and stings her ears with its sheer shrill tone. She’s momentarily distracted enough to have not noticed the student impatiently waiting outside her doorway until she’s stumbling into aforementioned student and the girl is scoffing in disbelief from the blatant disrespect of having not noticed her presence.

“I-I’m so sorry! I a-am late to class and I know that’s n-not a good excuse. . . you can draw dicks all over my face with permanent m-marker if it makes you feel. . .!”

“Shut up, please. You’re already annoying me and I haven’t even begun yet to be properly annoyed,” the girl replies before easing into an ersatz smile that’s oozing with an indecipherable intent. Mikan begins to back away before she stiffens in place. She doesn’t retain the nerve to try to scurry out of this girl’s piercing gaze.

The girl is smirking, and Mikan doesn’t know if it’s in prideful self-satisfaction. “Senpai-chan, I didn’t mean to scare you!” She shifts personalities in a millisecond, switching from an icy persona to a bubbly and almost childlike one before Mikan can blink.

“U-Um. . .”

“I didn’t want to be a mean bully, I just wanted to ask if you knew what classroom Nagito-chan is in!” The girl questions as she picks up an accent that botches the solid consonants and squishes most of her words together in a babble that sounds reminiscent to some overgrown toddler’s. Yet all of Mikan’s fright from the girl’s previous intimidating gesture fades away in an instant once she mentions _her_ Nagito’s name.

Mikan knows she must give this girl the benefit of the doubt first. She’s thoroughly exhausted, she supposes in hindsight, of expecting the worst out of her friends and unfortunately discovering them to be true. She can simply be fruitlessly searching for Nagito just to hand him back a belonging of his that contained his neat signature (not that Nagito ever signed any of his personal belongings. She would know, she lynched off at least five of his notebooks and two beige-tinted cardigans of his during homeroom and keeps them stuffed in one of the lower cabinets of her dresser). “H-He’s in Class 77-B’s homeroom r-right now, I think. M-May I ask what you need from him?”

It was an actual effort to choke out the innocent inquiry, since Mikan was generally feeling fearful of the range of responses she may receive. She would most likely over-analyze any type of answer she would get. Then the student smiled, a smile that brightened the hallways and dampened the darkened, ominous feelings in Mikan’s soul quite easily.

“I’m his roommate. He forgot his watch,” she began, and Mikan returned her confident and welcoming smile with a hesitant one of his own, the relief prancing along the edges of her souls in a jolly manner as the bubble inflates to a magnificent size.

But then it. . .

“He left it in my bed this morning after we made out on it.”

 _pops_.

Mikan could almost hear the delicate, yet simultaneously potent pop in her head as all of the pleasant emotions that had been gradually building within her disappear into the air.

She sees red, an abundance of red has inundated her vision almost immediately before she can even fully process her train of thought. She can’t think straight, she almost can’t think at all, beyond the red-hot anger that is furiously brewing in place of the pastel-tinted emotions.

Why the _fuck_ is the _worst_ of what she had been expecting occurring? Was Nagito actually _fucking with_ his roommate? He had briefly mentioned his roommate as the Ultimate Neurologist prior to their encounters, while he was gently wrapping up another slash in her thigh with a gentle smile taking up his countenance, but they had always been concerning informational matters and never had he hinted that he shared a relationship with her. She hadn’t even received enough pertinent information to discern the fact that his roommate was of the opposite gender. Her nightmares could’ve been plagued with a different flavor otherwise.

The girl’s giggling now, a high-pitched giggle that’s digging into Mikan’s system as she’s struggling to retain her shaky hold on her patience that is rapidly thinning out. The hammering that was once in her chest has now returned in a full-fledged force, but it was now taking up a bothersome residence in the center of her head and blurring any coherent thoughts. “Aww, senpai-chan is jealous that I have Nagito-chan wrapped around my finger!”

Mikan’s face twitches as the girl in front of her now dons lenses and a knowledgeable pose that is laughable at this point. Must she frequently switch her boisterous personalities? It was more annoying and exhausting to espy than her own numerous whining sessions. “Must you perform as a cretin when I’m relaying this information to you? Did you really, truly ponder on how faithful he must be with you when he has someone as sexy as me as his roommate?”

Mikan can barely muster the reply of “We weren’t in a relationship” before the girl continues. “At least let me assure you this: he’s definitely one of the best I’ve ever had.”

Before Mikan can truly register what was occurring and can decipher the rapid firing of thoughts in her head, her bony fingers are slowly but surely squeezing around the student’s throat. She barely has enough space in her muddled mind to question if she is truly registering her irreversible actions before it is drowned in the familiar red-hot anger. The girl in front of her continues to giggle with practiced ease, as if someone’s hands weren’t wrapped around her throat at that very moment.

“I-I’m going to k-kill you,” Mikan’s stutter is pronounced but her message is virulent and clear. The girl presumes that the entire premise is a mere joke and doesn’t reply, and Mikan can espy the mirthless laughter bubbling in her sky-blue orbs. She feels as if she will explode as the edges of her vision begins to subside in red. “I-I’m going to choke the shit out of y-you and then dump your b-body in an incinerator,” she’s whispering, voice cracking as she beams at the girl in front of her. 

As Mikan’s cheeky grin increases, the girl’s smile begins to dissipate. “You wouldn’t dare,” she simply responds with a smirk that doesn’t seem as convincing when Mikan can feel her jugular bobbing fearfully underneath her fingertips.

 _Watch me bitch,_ Mikan almost voices, but she only allows her resulting actions to act as a suitable response. Mikan continues squeezing, and doesn’t halt when she hears the unfamiliar sounds of choking escape the girl’s lips. Her eyes are blazed with cloudy despair that Mikan can’t bear to bring herself to look at,  because she knows that she herself is most likely harboring the same crazed expression _(and that thought horrifies her),_ but she doesn’t cease the steady and consistent pressure on the girl’s throat.

At this point, the girl is unable to speak but her eyes still depict some wise-ass response on how Mikan couldn’t procure enough moxie to finish the job. If Mikan had encountered this girl only a few hours prior, perhaps she wouldn't have been able to complete the arduous task of ridding this  _bitch,_ but it was as if her recent nightmare had flipped a switch that was bound to have been activated anyways. She recalls the despair swimming in Nagito's knowing orbs in her nightmare, eerily reminiscent to this girl's expression and perhaps her very own at this moment, and it serves as inspiration to wrap her fingers more securely. 

She watches as her eyes bulge out from their sockets, as her face gradually reddens under the steady pressure that is being applied and all of the blood that is soon rushing into her head and being unable to properly flow through the coronary veins of her heart. Mikan briefly wonders how it would feel like to choke this girl’s very own heart in place of her bobbing throat, to smash it until it is a bloody pulp splattered on the pristine floors of the school.

  
But she just watches as her face begins to grow a pleasant shade of dark violet, until the girl’s eyes flutter closed and she measly attempts to struggle for a few more brief seconds before going completely limp under Mikan’s stony grip.

  
It feels like hours elapsed before Mikan's fingers begin to loosen and unclasp from the girl's throat. The reddened marks that are left as staggering evidence is what kickstarts Mikan's resulting panic about this new unexpected development. Thousands of thoughts are carbon copies of _What did I just do?_ while the girl’s body slips from what was once a firm death-holding grip and collapses to the floor. The red that had once filled her vision was slowly but surely fading away, and soon her eyes were filling up with tears as she watches the corpse’s body smack against the school’s tiles with a sickening smack that echoes throughout her mind and the empty hallway.

  
Now Mikan is the one choking over this little mistake, mind blindly racing as to how she can effectively rid of the body and leave no ounce of evidence behind. She briefly contemplated just leaving the body there before realizing that she had disobeyed one of the very first and foremost rules of getting away with a reasonable murder: leave no fingerprints.

  
Her dumb and disheartened self actually left entire handprints for the police to detect on this girl's tender throat, and now the only regret to have surfaced from the despairing situation was that she wished she shouldn't have been as careless. It's not like she would ever regret killing her, since she wholeheartedly deserved it after she had relentlessly played with her kind and unassuming Nagito like that. To speak about him as if he were some risqué achievement that she could flaunt with the cruel intention of stirring other girls’ hearts in envy?

  
Now she was one less prospective enemy when it came to winning Nagito's heart. All he would have to think about is Mikan and her wide violet-tinted eyes peering into his with a wild and unfiltered love.

  
Her love is all he would ever need, ever desire!

  
He would never again have to dream of tantalizing blue orbs swimming with despair or sharpened red nails scratching his back as an annoyingly high voice screamed out his name under the darkened ceiling of his-

  
Mikan knew her thoughts were getting out of hand and she whimpered before smacking the side of her head in a weakened attempt to silence the provocative thoughts that were crossing her head in the speed of light. She must refocus to the task on hand before some unassuming student would enter the hallway and see her leaning over the Ultimate Neurologist's body.

  
Mikan nervously chuckled as she discovered that the girl didn't even have enough time alive after their unfortunate encounter to even divulge her name. Mikan peered into the girl's face and contemplated on whether or not she may be an elder student, before discovering that her face was too youthful and vibrant, even after her death, to be an elder. She must have been an incoming freshman.

  
This entire premise seemed like some ill-devised joke. Fear of her horrific crime being discovered churned within her stomach once more before Mikan decided the best course of action was to bury the body. The downside was that it was an arduous process and she may not be able to grace her classmates with a complementary view of her panties as she had initially planned.

  
Her panic quickly subsided once she repeated the basis of her plan to herself as she slipped some leather gloves onto her fingers in order to prevent any other fingerprints from appearing on the body. She had learnt that although bodies that were buried were almost always discovered, the fingerprints the killer leaves do eventually fade away within a certain amount of time and it was usually after that time limit was the body discovered. Those fingerprints was the only thing that could trace the murder back to Mikan, since she had no other affiliation with the Ultimate Neurologist otherwise. She was extremely adept at lying under a detective’s scrutinizing gaze.

  
Mikan giggled to herself, entirely relieved that this was going to be executed surprisingly easily. It would’ve been easier if she hadn’t left fingerprints simply because she could’ve just left the body displayed in the hallway for her beloved Nagito to see. She smacked the side of her head again as another image began to resurface, the one of Nagito roughly shoving his roommate onto the hospital bed Mikan usually resided in when he gently treated her wounds. Soon her thoughts would be scot-free, once the body was (quite literally) buried six feet underground.

  
Mikan quickly dragged the body back into her dorm, where her kitten was expectantly waiting for his owner to return at the foot of the door. He mewed curiously and pawed at the girl she was struggling to drag across the doorway, and Mikan gently pushed the kitten aside before heaving her over the doorway at last. “Sorry baby,” she whispered to the kitten as he stared at her with doe-like eyes in an attempt to win her over.

Usually his adorable swoon-worthy tactic would have her keeling over him in a matter of seconds, but right now she was preoccupied with a corpse that was becoming heavier by the minute. She presumed it was her fear that was choking the logical and analytical section of her brain from speeding up the process.

  
_Garbage bag, garbage bag_. The kitten whimpered as Mikan began to noticeably panic before spotting a glimpse of the bundle of trash bags stuffed near the doorway. She extracted one of the garbage bags as she ripped it away from the others, spinning around quickly enough to accidentally trip over the corpse splayed in the center of the room, her instinctual action to simply fall and create a scene quickly being sniffed out. She balanced herself before she could’ve fallen on top of the corpse and splatter more of her DNA on the body.

  
Can’t panic, please don’t panic. She needed to panic later, but right now she needed to stuff this body feet-first into the trash bag. Mikan grunted as she realized this girl was considerably heavier than she had initially thought. Probably those voluptuous breasts of her added at least ten more pounds to her figure, Mikan thought to herself as annoyance sprang within her. She berated herself before tying up the bag in a secure double-knot, why worry about how another girl’s body compared to her own when she definitely possessed the upper hand? (At least she was alive.)

  
She hoped this didn’t seem too inconspicuous. That thought led her to untying the bag and stuffing her trash on top of the corpse in the rare case she was demanded to open it and reveal its contents. Hopefully the plastic bag wouldn’t be pried entirely open for a thorough investigation.

  
She strategically placed all of her trash in order for even a square centimeter of the corpse to be hidden from the surface. Mikan retied the knot until it was secure enough that nothing would spill out from the bag. She hoped the bag wouldn’t be punctured from any sharp parts of the body until it was thrown into the hole and dirt was being tossed on top of it.

Then she opened her door and struggled once again to heave the bag over the doorway.

  
Her minute sounds of struggling with the bag muted over the lithe footsteps heading towards her until she heard her name being called out from an achingly familiar voice that was reminiscent to the smooth velvet caressing her body. (When did those dirty thoughts ever disappear from her head? He’d be disgusted if he knew what went on her head.)

  
She groaned inwardly, hoping her expression didn’t give away any of the annoyed emotion that was currently racing through her mind. She had missed Nagito wholeheartedly, sure, but right now she was disposing any evidence of a murder and it was her utmost priority. (This was for him anyways. She had promised herself that she would kill anyone who attempted to sabotage the love that was destined from the heavens itself.) “Mikan?" 

  
A sharp pang stealthily dug itself into her conscious until she felt the most impactful migraine form within milliseconds. The pounding in her head caused the indecisiveness of ignoring her beloved to resurface, and as if her body possessed a mind of its own, she found herself spinning around. It was a discomforting thought to unravel if his voice was actually inflicting physical pain on her until she was unable to grant the toleration of her own boundaries. Was this insanity or was this the most powerful love she’s ever been graced with? (She decided to comfort herself by deciding it was the latter.) Before she could process what was occurring, she was making contact with Nagito’s chest.

  
She instinctively backed away as he continued to step forward, tripping over the gigantic bag as she tried oh so hard to create distance that may prove precarious if not achieved soon enough. Things were occurring too quickly for her mind to process and she needed some type of control over the situation that was festering beyond her already heightened expectation.

  
Why was he. . .? The only time she desired privacy from him and he was pushing into her personal space as if she hadn’t formed some mental separation between them these past few weeks. It would’ve been almost comical if she wasn’t tightly gripping the edges of the trash bag holding an already-rotting corpse until her knuckles began to whiten.

  
“Miss Yukizome wanted me to see if you were in your dorm. You didn’t attend homeroom today,” he whispered, the close proximity meaning it wasn’t necessary for him to raise his voice a few octaves. She gulped, already feeling the wetness in her eyes formulate shapely tears as she was unable to think of any solutions to escape the predicament she was trapped in.

  
Escaping from his probing and knowledgeable gaze would be detrimental to her heart in the long run. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, move even a step away from him as his fingers were lightly grazing her shoulder in a manner such as this. A simple touch could keep her frozen in place, and she would subsequently fantasize over the encounter for days afterwards. “I-I felt sick. P-Please tell Miss Yukizome I’m s-sorry and I’ll come in s-soon. J-Just,” she lightly extracted her arm from his gentle grip as she averted her eyes from his grey-green set and instead eyed the trash bag. “. . . let me do an e-errand first.”

  
“You’re sick but still running around performing errands?” He placed the back of his palm on top of her forehead, frowning at the normal temperature that was only a tad hotter.

  
His hand snaked around her arm again, this time his grip vice-like and tightened enough that it was preventing her from escaping. She shut her eyes tightly as she realized her tongue twisted upon itself and no words were able to arise from her throat. Her mind was racing, Nagito’s simple questions were having more of a negative impact on her lying abilities than any other professional detective or police officer could.

  
“Taking out the trash of all things? Looks almost. . .”

  
“My trash was getting f-full. I couldn’t even stick a plate down the bag without something spilling o-over.”

  
“Why are you lying?”

  
She squeaked involuntarily, feeling her cheeks redden with embarrassment and another emotion that she was currently unable to place, or was too fearful to decipher. “Y-You can l-light my p-pants on fire, if you’d like. . .”

  
Just as the self-deprecating words slipped down her lips and tumbled to the floor, she saw something silver glint from the underside of his hands and dove to procure the object from his hands before it tore open the trash bag. He was quick enough to deflect her advances by raising his arm that was gripping the knife above her head, but not quick enough to keep her from falling over him in a measly attempt to snatch the pocketknife from Nagito’s stony grip.

  
“A-A sharp eye you have. One I’d expect from an Ultimate,” he grunted underneath her weight, the smile slowly appearing on his lips that detailed his malicious and clever tendencies. She had forgotten how unpredictable he was when he wasn’t fatigued with sleep at one in the morning from her usual visits. He was an alert individual that proved to baffle her at times like these, when she needed to be reminded the least.

  
“I-I’m sorry K-Komaeda-kun, but I just don’t want you to see my trash, is all!” She pleaded in a whining tone as she attempted to calm the turbulent flurry of thoughts that was zooming in her head. This is the closest she had ever been to him and it wasn’t even in a compromising position as she initially hoped.

  
He stayed silent for a moment, his eyes indecipherable as he considered her response. “For your quick reaction in noticing how I was going to cut the bag, I suppose it’s all right if I let you discard your trash,” he finally replied with a sunny demeanor, and the bundle of nerves lying in the center of her chest untied themselves. She sighed in relief as she stood up, not taking notice of the faint, pinkish tint on Nagito’s cheeks.

  
Then the sound of plastic tearing inundated the hallway as the contents of her bag spilt out from the corner Nagito slashed with his pocketknife. Panic flooded her and the initial shock wore away instantly as she prepared to knock him out with any object nearby. She wouldn’t dare hurt her beloved under any other circumstance, but she could have him to herself afterwards anyways and the thought seemed appealing since she wouldn’t allow him to run to the authorities anyway.

  
But before he could even lay his eyes on the pale corpse, Yukizome’s voice was calling the Ultimate Nurse’s name, voice urgent enough for them to create an educated guess that perhaps one of their classmates injured themselves with another one of their boisterous battles. His head whipped towards the teacher’s voice before returning his eyes to the contents of the bag, but it was prolonged enough that Mikan was able to shove the red manicured hand from the surface and cover it with trash. He inspected the surface of the bag, a ghost of a frown lingering on his lips as if he felt the situation had been tampered with, but dismissed it once Mikan profusely apologized to him for causing any trouble.

  
He gave a cursory glance towards the trash bag again before replying, “It’s okay, Tsumiki-san. I apologize for tearing your trash bag, I had an odd. . .” he trailed off uncertainly, his eyes focused on one particular corner of the trash bag that glittered under the fluorescent lighting of the school hallway. “There was no reason as to why I should’ve done that. Would you like me to carry the bag for you?”

  
Tsumiki had eagerly and expectantly awaited for his reply and when he decided not to finish his own statement, her face crumpled before she shook her head. “I-It’s okay. Y-You should head back before Yukizome has a heart attack, w-with the mess she may be d-dealing with,” she suggested lightheartedly. He chuckled softly, finally detracting his gaze from the bag and returning her shy simper with one of his own.

  
“I’ll save you a seat for the movie, okay? Everyone’s decided to watch the Spongebob movie, and I know you secretly have a crush on the yellow sponge, right?”

  
“P-Please stop t-telling everyone I do!” She replied, her emotions brightening at the thought that he had automatically decided to save her a seat next to him. As if the past few weeks hadn’t taken a mental strain on their relationship and he was willing to regress into their original relationship of late-night visits and classroom days full of tentative smiles and kind remarks.

  
But. . . she wanted, no, needed more than what he was offering. She desired to be the one occupying the seat adjacent to his during a movie, yes, but she wanted to be the one to have him extremely flustered in his seat as she slipped a hand under his pants and . . .  
She blinked away the incoming thought as she began to walk towards the cemetery. She had to recall how just a few minutes prior he was attempting to discover her secrets and in an almost aggressive manner, brandishing the pocketknife above her head.

  
She had to recall how he was such a charming individual, yes, but easily suspicious. It took her fifteen minutes to find the nearest cemetery and she heaved the body over the freshly dug hole that must’ve been created for an incoming corpse assigned to a funeral by tomorrow morning the latest. It took Nagito only a few weeks to suspect her of any devious plans, and it would take him a matter of minutes for him to discover the elaborate and immoral plan she had devised especially for him. She busily piled some dirt on top of the corpse, enough for it to go unnoticed at the next funeral until a coffin was placed above it.

  
She returned to the school mildly exhausted but still readily apologizing to the classroom as she announced her presence. “Pig barf, we missed Squidward’s scene! Sit down, nobody wants to see your ugly face contaminating the screen!”

  
“We’ll tape your mouth if you insult one more person, Saionji-san.”

  
“Mahiru, he’s bullying me!”

  
Mikan waved to Nagito as he returned the gesture, nodding towards the seat next to him before gluing his eyes back to the screen. The big pink starfish was now baring his ass to the TV screen, the name of the character always slipping Mikan’s mind. She laughed alongside the others, snickered at all of the cheesy scenes, and blushed easily once someone made a comment about how she was just as lovestruck as Spongebob was when they tried to appear manly over the appearance of King Neptune’s daughter.

  
She ignored the pressing weight of the chloroform-ingested rag sitting idly in her pocket.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took me so long to churn out!! I've just been so busy with school and grades have been legit drowning me lolol
> 
> ALSO me killing Junko was totally self-indulgent whoops I hate her, but she served as a good plot point at least

**Author's Note:**

> Some background information, in hopes to clear any confusion:  
> •Mikan DID NOT inflict any bruises on herself. Rather, she claims that she inflicted wounds unto herself because of her luck.  
> •I've made it so that her luck is what makes her trip all the time? If that makes sense ?!  
> •Nagito's obsession with hope is more of a little obsession, is all. I won't say it's as full-fledged as in DR2. He was pretty enthusiastic about it since it was late at night (he was probably a little disoriented from staying up late at night). He usually is more of a normal individual in his classroom.  
> (FUN FACT: a few girls in his class probably harbor crushes on him, since his insanity is rather *absent*)  
> •Mikan is the one who has frontotemporal dementia. Nagito has no mental illnesses to ail him.  
> • Mikan had been slowly developing feelings for him in the matter of months. That's why her sudden love for him may seem odd, but there is more unrecorded events of her having nice moments with him.


End file.
